Another Love I Would Abuse
by Maeve of Winter
Summary: The universe is collapsing in on itself, both magic and time gone awry, and heroes are trying find out the reason why. But who is Gar Logan, and just what does he have to do with it all? SLASH BB/Cy AKA Gar/Vic
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

Warning: brief references to character death and suicide attempt.

Paring: Gar/Vic (BB/Cy)

This fic is going to be a blend of characterizations and elements from the original 52, the New 52, and the Justice League Unlimited animated series.

Feedback is welcome!

* * *

Too many people he loved were dead.

As usual.

The moss-covered rocks were slick beneath his bare feet, and Gar cursed aloud when he turned on his ankle. He'd ditched his boots a while back; Trigon's fire had melted through the soles, anyway. At the moment, he was in his human form. Changing shapes was even more agonizing than ever; his transformations had been painful ever since Raven polluted him with the remnants of Trigon. She'd corrupted both he and Richard, to the point that they were practically demons along with her.

 _Raven. Richard._

Tonight, Gar had killed the two of them, in a desperate last attempt to stop Trigon from fully emerging in them all. Raven was a herald of Trigon, and had turned he and Richard into ones as well, in an attempt to use them restore Trigon to his full power.

Gar had tried to kill himself, too, but seeing he was still alive, he must have botched the job somehow.

The decision to kill two of his closest friends had not been easy. But Lilith was slayed trying to exorcise Trigon's influence from Raven, and Donna fell in combat not long afterward. Gar had spent the conflict at war with himself, struggling against the bloodlust Raven incited in him. In a hard-won moment of clarity, Gar had realized the only immediate solution, the only way to stop further needless bloodshed, was to kill Richard, Raven, and himself. It was the only way to suspend Trigon's influence over all of them.

He couldn't remember the act itself. He only recalled reaching the decision to kill them both, and then hazily returning to consciousness (life?) with their corpses strewn beside him.

Wally and Kory were missing after the battle, and Gar, a Doom Patrol veteran, held no optimism about their prospects for survival.

The only other Titan left alive was probably Vic.

Vic. His closest friend, his confidant. He was in space right now. Gar had been with him for awhile, but during their time together, Vic gradually become less recognizable. The man who Gar had witnessed fight to retain his humanity come hell or high water now willingly integrated new technology into his being at every opportunity. Gar had returned to Earth when he realized the Victor he'd known was gone, buried away beneath pieces of alien technology.

 _"I knew we'd get out of this deathtrap," Gar had once reassured Vic while rescuing him after a disastrous fight with the Disruptor._

 _"Really? " Vic had asked skeptically. " How? "_

 _"Haven't you heard? " Gar had said wryly. " It's an all-inclusive part of my escape claws. "_

He missed Vic. The Vic who joked with him, sparred with him, playfully insulted him. He missed Vic's blunt honesty, his sarcasm, his warmth, his affection. In space together, Gar had watched as those parts of Vic gradually faded and vanished. The Vic he'd left in space seemed totally disinterested in him as a person, friend, or ally, and only spoke to him to report on technological updates to his system.

Now was the time to change that. To reverse his friends' deaths, to erase Vic's development into a complete robot.

To Gar, Vic had always been the Tin Man with a heart. Though Vic could cynical and jaded, there was also an inalienable strong moral fiber ingrained within him, a nobility that refused to allow himself to commit actions solely of self-interest or malice. And Gar was going to bring that Vic back.

"Goddamn," Gar hissed as he tread on a thorny bramble branch. Ignoring the pain, he pushed through the shrubbery and stumbled into a clearing.

The sky was dark, but the cold glow of the moonlight illuminated his destination. An overgrown cemetery, just across the field, mostly obscured from view due to the surrounding overgrowth. Low-hanging tree limbs were bent to awkward angles by heavy snarls of climbing vines, giving the effect of a sylvan canopy. Similar ramblers wove throughout the dense hedges, creating caverns of deep shadow.

The tombstones themselves were weathered, the epitaphs now illegible with age, and snares of ivy snaked from around the rotting wood of the dilapidated split rail fence to lace between the graves.

The small cemetery was quiet as Gar made his way to the mausoleum, the air very still. No crickets chirped, no birds called, no wind rustled through the leaves. The atmosphere was almost anticipatory, like the world around him was holding its breath as it awaited his next move.

Once at the mausoleum, Gar withdrew a withered black candle, approximately twelve inches in length, from his pack. He'd found the object among his father's possessions, no doubt a remainder from his occult days with John Constantine. Little research had been necessary to determine the precise nature of the candle.

Hesitating, Gar studied the object in his hands. Once the candle was lit, there was no going back. There would be sacrifices he have to make.

Maybe he should stop here. Walk away while he still had the opportunity, and move forward with his life. Enter the next chapter. It wasn't like he didn't have plans; he was managing Dayton Industries right now, and was scheduled to start college in the fall.

But then again . . .

How many people had he lost? His parents, Chief Tabawa, even those two thieves who had briefly adopted him. The Doom Patrol- the Chief, Larry, Cliff, and Rita. Hell, at the moment, Steve had once again pulled a knight errant and was off God knows where.

And Terra. To lose her, he would have had to have her in the first place, and Gar remained uncertain of if he'd ever managed to draw out the true Terra's personality. Now that Gar was sufficiently separated from the events surrounding the two of them, he knew that on some level, the Terra he loved only existed as an idea rather than an individual- of course, that had been the entire purpose of Terra' deception. But his idea of her had died when she did, buried beneath a pile of rubble brought down on her by either choice or frenzy.

Tonight, the rest of the Titans had fallen.

Richard, constantly in motion, brimming with good nature and vitality, who had been like an older brother to Gar.

Raven, whose quiet wisdom and steadfast counsel guided the team throughout both trying missions and personal crises.

Kory, whose radiant beauty was nothing compared to her passion in all aspects of life, her kindness to others, and her ferocity in battle.

Wally, the most straitlaced and sensible of their group, whose occasional grumblings were belied by his generosity toward all and his determination to give aid to those in need.

Donna, whose tenacity was only succeeded by her strength of character. She was gentle and compassionate despite her power, and Gar imagined she was what an older sister would be like.

Lilith. Though Gar was not as familiar with her as the others, she had helped them save the Earth from Trigon's rule once before. Now, she died trying to do the same, attempting to restore Richard, Raven, and himself to their true nature.

All that remained was a Vic that was barely Vic. Not the Vic whom he'd fought alongside, not the Vic who encouraged him to learn to manage Dayton Industries, not the Vic who struggled to remain human, not the Vic who gave his damnedest to save everyone.

Twisting off the plain platinum band he wore on his left hand, Gar considered the ring for a moment. Summoning all his resolve, he clenched the ring in his fist, feeling the metal press against his palm.

Flipping open a lighter, Gar held the candle in one hand and lit it with the other.

Time to make a deal.


	2. Chapter 2

Zatanna sighed deeply as she finished preparing the penultimate section of her supply cabinet. Replenishing her reserves of magical ingredients for her spells was not only costly, but time-consuming as well. Magic was a precise art, thus its components required careful treatment and storage. Certain items needed to remain in isolation, or in homogenous groups, in order for their essences to remain pure and retain their enchanting properties.

Additionally, most of the tasks to prepare the components necessitated careful and cautious attention, and as temperamental as the ingredients could be, Zatanna had little choice but to work by hand.

Exhaling slowly, Zatanna reached her arms above her head and stretched, doing her best to relax her tense muscles, sore from spending most of the day leaning over a workbench. After she finally completed her cataloging, she would gather the freshest relaxation herbs in her collection and treat herself to a long, warm bath.

Just as she reached for her knife to start dicing the final batch of wormwood root, a prickle of unease jabbed at her consciousness. Snapping to full attention, Zatanna concentrated as an odd sense of displacement rippled within her, spreading from the core of her being to the tips of her fingers. And suddenly, there was an inescapable feeling of incongruousness, that she was out of step with space and time.

Summoning all her will, Zatanna narrowed her eyes and let her magic hum through her body, allowing it to build, until in a burst of energy, she broke through the surrounding spell. The power of the opposing magic shattered, then resonated, its fragments nearly bowling her over with their sheer magnitude, astonishingly strong even as the enchantment collapsed. But Zatanna stood determined, refusing to give any of her ground; she would not be a slave to anyone else's will.

As the magic around her ebbed away, Zatanna's mind whirled. She knew when she was being conned. And another sorcerer, a powerful one, had just tried to dupe her- but to what end?

Wasting no time, Zatanna crossed the room to her summoning circle. Murmuring an incantation, she closed the circle from any metaphysical attacks, and with another chant, brought forth a portal. An antique metal chest emerged, and Zatanna swiftly disabled the fortifying spells and seals that at once prevented unlocking or magic from altering the contents.

Carefully, Zatanna removed her _Gloine nan Druidh_ , and scowled fiercely when she saw the runes on the glassy stone were aglow.

The lit runes could only indicate an enormous out-pour of a malicious spell. Another sorcerer had used an enormous outburst of Chaos magic to alter their Earth. To tamper with lives, with events, with time.

As for the reason, Zatanna did not know. Yet.

Resealing the chest and the portal, Zatanna stepped out of the circle, forgetting her own weariness. A new challenge had arose. She needed to trace who had been playing games with the universe's alignment, and why.

A knock on the door of Vernon Questor's office interrupted his examination of the profit return on the trial ventures of Dayton Industries.

"Come in," he called, straightening in his chair.

The door opened, and a young blonde maid with whom he'd spoken earlier stood in the doorway. "Excuse me, sir. I know you're concerned for Mr. Logan's state of being and wanted a report when I brought him dinner this evening."

"How is he, Madelyn?" Questor inquired.

"He refused dinner, sir," Madelyn said apologetically. "He sent it back down to the kitchen."

Questor sighed. "Thank you, Madelyn. That is all."

"Very well, sir," Madelyn said, before exiting and closing the door on her way out.

Steeling himself for the upcoming battle, Questor momentarily mused on the current state of the Dayton family, to which he had now served as an assistant for several years. More than a decade ago, Steve Dayton, one of the wealthiest individuals in the world, had married Oscar-winning actress Rita Farr. They both had continued their respective careers, but became parents quickly afterward. Garfield Logan's family had perished in a boating accident, and Steve and Rita, his godparents, instantly adopted him and proceeded to raise him as their own.

Rising from his desk, Questor started on his journey from his first floor office to Garfield's fourth floor living quarters.

The next decade passed by with few surprises. Though rambunctious throughout his childhood, Garfield had excelled in academics, sports, and extracurricular activities. True, meeting curfew was rarely a goal of his, and he all too often forgot to ask for parental permission before vacationing in another country with his friends. But overall, he was surprisingly low maintenance for a teenager.

Last week, however, Rita had been killed during an attack on Metropolis. As of now, the reports released by the authorities stated the aggressors were invaders from another planet, known as Apokolips.

But no matter what the cause, Rita Farr was dead. She had been in Metropolis for an awards show, to receive another honor for her latest film.

Steve was devastated. Overcome with grief, he had taken to his rooms and had yet to emerge.

In his father's absence, Garfield had assumed management of his mother's funeral and various memorial services. He seemed numb with shock and grief in his quieter moments, but capable of feigning appropriate emotions for all tasks required of him. During public appearances, he was grief-stricken but collected; with his fellow mourners, he was heartbroken but gracious; for business decisions, he was solemn but resolved. So readily and ably had Garfield taken to the many masks of the upper class that Questor doubted the boy himself even realized the manner in which he was automatically tailoring his interactions to each individual audience.

Upon reaching Garfield's quarters, Questor paused outside of the elaborately carved mahogany double doors and buzzed the ultramodern intercom made from the latest technology of Dayton industries. "Questor here. Mr. Logan, do you have a moment to speak?"

There was no response, but the door's electronic lock retracted, which Questor interpreted as permission to enter, and did so.

He ascended the brief polished marble staircase, the landing of which was built over a small pond, supplemented by a miniature waterfall. The stairs led into the parlor, a room that consisted of soft white walls, dark wooden furniture, and enormous windows, all adorned by gleaming gold ornaments. The room was a classic blend of opulent and contemporary.

Garfield was awaiting him on one of the many lavish white sofas that surrounded the seventy-eight inch plasma screen television. He was still wearing his suit from a memorial service he attended in the afternoon, but by now, he had loosened his tie and shed his jacket.

Though the Dayton heir's posture was impeccable, and for all purposes, he appeared relaxed, Questor could detect weariness and despair in his demeanor. Hardly unexpected, however, for a teenager who had just lost his mother for the second time and whose father had all but succumbed to grief.

As Questor approached, Garfield's attention did not divert from the news- yet another review of Apokolips's attack, this time detailing a new hero known as "Cyborg" who had emerged during the event to help the Justice League successfully repel the invasion.

Questor cleared his throat, and Garfield turned to him. His usually energetic persona was subdued, and his bright blue eyes were circled with dark shadows and seemed far older than his years.

With the remote, Garfield switched off the television. "Hey, Ques. How's my father?" His voice was hoarse, but whether it was from grief or overuse due to the number public addresses he had given in the past several days remained uncertain.

"I think he still needs some time," Questor replied tactfully. "As for you-"

"I'm fine," Garfield replied. "I checked my father's calendar for tomorrow, and he's supposed to be interviewing with some _Daily Planet_ reporter about the purchase of STAR Labs in the morning, and meeting with the board in the afternoon. I'll be taking over both of those duties while he's incapacitated."

"Let me take the board meeting for you, at least," Questor offered. "Lord knows you have enough on your plate already."

Garfield shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Questor. I'll be fine."

"Mr. Logan, I insist," Questor said firmly. "I know you want to help your father, but you won't be of use to anyone if you work yourself into exhaustion."

Garfield's eyes blazed with anger. "I _said_ I'd be fine!" His tone was sharp and angry.

Questor did not reply immediately, searching for the best way to maintain composure and defuse Garfield's temper, but before he could respond, the teenager spoke again.

"I'm sorry, Questor. It's not fair of me to snap at you when you're only trying to help me," Gar apologized.

"Mr. Logan, you're distraught. In the wake of recent events, I can't fault you for not being perfectly in control of your emotions," Questor returned sincerely.

"Nevertheless, it was wrong of me to take it out on you." Garfield sighed. "I'm sorry, Questor, I truly am. I just keep thinking of all of my obligations. I'm supposed to make an appearance at the dedication of that inner city playground, and then I've arranged to meet with several officials from our finance and PR departments to establish a memorial charity in my mother's name. I don't want anyone to think I'm neglecting my responsibilities."

"If you couldn't manage your duties at the moment, it would be perfectly understandable," Questor responded, his tone not unkind. "And if I might be so bold, Mr. Logan, personally, I don't think burying your grief in a multitude of activities is either healthy or ultimately productive."

Garfield looked at Questor directly and offered a wan smile. "I'm not going to have a mental breakdown, Ques. If for no other reason, I simply don't have the time for it."

Questor's firm tone returned. "Be that as it may, I must insist that I take your place at the board meeting. After all, it's _my_ responsibility to ensure you are not overwhelmed by your role in the company."

"All right," Garfield conceded quietly. "Thank you, Vern."

"Good night, Gar," Questor said with a smile. He took his leave, and before he was halfway to the door, the television was clicked on again, with yet more news about this "Cyborg" character.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: In this version, the Justice League, along with the expanded league, was already established before Darkseid's invasion, and Cyborg was invited to join after he helped repel Darkseid's forces.

* * *

During his time with the Justice League, Clark had been amazed at the luxury of Wayne Manor, speechless at the grandeur of the Royal Atlantean palace, and wonderstruck at the ancient halls of Themyscira.

But none of his previous astonishment could compare to the utter awe inspired by the sight of Dayton Manor. Set far back from the private road leading toward it, the opulent white behemoth stood proudly, a grand sight against the horizon. The sight of the colossal mansion emerging from around the bend nearly brought Clark to swerve off the road.

"Sorry," he apologized hastily to his coworker in the passenger seat, but Jimmy Olsen, occupied with staring at the estate in wonder, didn't appear to notice either the offense or the attempt to make amends.

"Holy God," the college student breathed. "How many rooms do you think are in that place?"

"Must be over thirty." Clark hazarded a guess.

The sprawling residence wasn't just impressive for its size, though. The structure itself, with towering pillars and elaborate archways, was incredible on its own.

Clark pulled the car to a halt at the gates, the second checkpoint where they'd been required to stop and verify their identities.

"Clark Kent and Jimmy Olsen, from the Daily Planet," he informed the guards, handing over their press passes for inspection.

"Reporter and photographer," Jimmy added proudly.

Dayton Manor was no less imposing within close range. The lawns were perfectly manicured and the gardens elaborate, their intricate arrangement complementing the ornate embellishments of the building. The vivid blooms caught Clark's gaze, and he smiled, scanning the area, observing the stately decorations. Further off, he could see a gazebo, a winding stream, and a footbridge. The grounds of Dayton Manor were immaculate and unfailingly picturesque, as if too good to be true.

Clark's smile dropped as he recalled why he and Jimmy were at the Manor in the first place. Initially, they were supposed to meet with Steve Dayton at the central branch of STAR Labs in Metropolis. But during Darkseid's attack the previous week, Dayton's wife, award-winning actress Rita Farr, was killed. Overcome with grief, Dayton was unable to retain his commitments, and the interview was rearranged to take place at Dayton Manor, this time with Dayton's son, Gar Logan.

A wave of self-reproach washed over Clark yet again, and he sighed tiredly. Long ago, he'd become resigned to the reality that despite his extraordinary abilities, it was not within his power to save everyone. Still, the knowledge didn't ease the guilt that overtook him each time he turned on the news and saw the ever-mounting death toll from the invasion.

But as they continued up to the massive front doors, Clark pushed aside his self recrimination. No amount of remorse was going to bring back Rita Farr or any of the other victims. And right now, he had a duty to report to the world Dayton's plans for STAR Labs.

The two of them were ushered into the house by a pretty, blonde young woman, and led through a maze of vaulted hallways that seemed to be nothing but sparkling white marble floors and white walls with gleaming golden accents, until they arrived at an open, sunny terrace. A table with chairs was arranged near the edge, providing a striking view of a lake and forest in the distance, and another table off to the side hosted a magnificent spread of foodstuffs.

"Mr. Logan will be along shortly," the young blonde maid told them. "He apologizes for the delay, and in the meantime, urges you to help yourself to the refreshments." She gestured to the table laden with food. "I'll be going now, but I'll be back in a few moments in case you require any assistance."

"Thank you," Clark said sincerely.

The maid acknowledged him with a smile and a nod, and then departed back through the patio doors.

"This place is amazing," Jimmy enthused. "I've been to Luthor's mansion and headquarters for stories, but I've never seen a house quite as extravagant as this."

"It's beautiful, no doubt about it," Clark agreed, fixing himself a cup of coffee from the refreshment table.

"Do you think we were invited here to make a point?" Jimmy asked suddenly. "I mean, I know the Daytons couldn't exactly avoid a family tragedy, but it almost seems like we were deliberately brought here to be dazzled with the sights and sounds."

His enhanced hearing detected approaching footsteps from the inside of the mansion, and Clark choose his answer carefully, aware their host would be able to hear them. "To be honest, I've considered the same suspicions, but given that we're here to write a piece that's mostly informational, I'm not sure what honestly could be gained with attempts to overwhelm us."

"Nor am I," a voice said from behind them. "Which is why you can be certain I wouldn't have bothered."

Jimmy jumped about a foot in the air at the sudden appearance of their host, and Clark feigned surprise as well. Under the guise of startlement, he grabbed a few moments to study Gar Logan.

Despite being sixteen years old and the son of a famous actress and the world's fifth richest individual, Logan's appearances in the news media or gossip rags were surprisingly infrequent. His parents always carefully hid him from paparazzi. Little was known about him- he'd been adopted by Steve Dayton and Rita Farr at six years old; evidently, he was their godchild. His birth parents were scientists killed during a flood while conducting research in Qurac.

Perhaps one of the reasons Gar managed to avoid the limelight was due to the sheer dearth of information about him- it was difficult for an individual to capture public attention when there was virtually next to no known information about him beyond the absolute basics.

During the past week since his mother's death, he'd probably received more attention than ever before from the cameras at his mother's funeral, memorials, wakes, and dedications.

Any misgivings Clark may have held regarding the family cleared momentarily as a stab of sympathy for Gar Logan pierced his heart. He had two identities- Superman, the ever-present guardian of Metropolis, and Clark, who was somewhat hapless beyond his uncanny ability to always get the jump on new stories. Through the duality, he could experience both the fantastic and the mundane.

What would it be like to never have that kind of privacy? To have to have his raw grief rendered for display so the viewing public could watch?

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overhear," Gar Logan said, with a smile calculated to appear sheepish. Clark's practiced eye told him the expression wasn't the least bit genuine, but given Logan's current situation, he could hardly blame him. "But I want you to know that the reason I asked you to visit my home was purely due to my personal convenience. I apologize for dragging you out here, but it was the only way I could continue with the interview."

"I'm the one who should be apologizing," Jimmy said shamefacedly. "I didn't mean to be rude."

Logan offered them both a smile, but again, it was purely for show. "It's only expected for a reporter such as yourself to be suspicious about my motives. Your apology is appreciated, but really quite unnecessary, Mr. . . ."

"Olsen," Jimmy supplied. "Jimmy Olsen. But call me Jimmy. Everyone does."

"And I'm Clark Kent." Clark extended his hand, and Logan shook it briefly, with a firm grip.

"I'm Gar Logan, but you know that already. Please, call me Gar." He indicated the table. "Please help yourself to some food. It's the least I can do, really, given that I've had to trouble you with driving out here."

As they seated themselves at the table, Clark used the opportunity to inspect Gar further. He'd glimpsed him before a few times, mainly when he was reporting on charity galas or ribbon-cutting ceremonies, but he'd mostly only seen him from a distance, and before today, never held a direct conversation with him.

There could be no doubt that Gar was handsome. With his glossy golden blonde hair, fair complexion, and vivid blue eyes, he easily could have passed for the frontman of a boy band. Slender and slim-hipped but with lean muscles, he was clearly active and athletic. At the moment, he was dressed in a white shirt beneath a dark blue jacket, form-fitting khaki-colored pants, and tall black boots. He looked like he could have just strolled in from winning first place in a horse showing competition.

Oddly, Clark found his face to at once be unexpectedly young and old. A refreshing innocence, wholesomeness, presented itself plainly on Gar's fine features. Amongst the endlessly cynical and worldly youths of the day, it was a quality that Clark found refreshing. And yet, there were shadows circling Gar's eyes, and his face was drawn and drained. An aspect about his gaze appeared guarded, flinty. Clark couldn't help but wonder if he was watching a child being thrust into the shackles of adulthood well before his time.

Considering his observations, Clark decided to begin the interview with a few warm-up questions to determine Gar's openness.

"Much of the public was surprised at the sudden acquisition of STAR Labs by Dayton Industries," Clark began. "Was the deal intentionally secret, or was it merely a recent decision?"

"Recent," Gar responded promptly. "My father had the idea several weeks ago, put it to the Dayton Industries' board, and here we are. By no means did we ever intend to give the impression of any expedient behavior on the behalf of anyone involved."

The answer was a typical politician's spiel: suave reassurance while maintaining plausible deniability all the while. "What is Dayton Industries's intention by buying STAR Labs?" Clark queried.

"We've been looking to expand Dayton Laboratories for some time, now," Gar responded smoothly. "Securing STAR seemed like the best method for the task. We're very eager for our partnership to commence- Dayton Labs has a variety of projects we're interested in continuing, and of course, we also want to continue with our development."

At last, a hook. "Development?" Clark repeated curiously. "You mean we can expect for Dayton Labs to be establishing further facilities?"

"Of course. Like any other business, Dayton Industries is always seeking its next opportunity," Gar replied.

"So, what's the next opportunity for your labs?" Jimmy inquired.

With just a hint of a smile playing on his youthful features, Gar momentarily glanced upward toward the clear blue sky. Clark instantly made the connection, but it was Jimmy who voiced it.

"Space travel." His voice was both astonished and excited. "How long has that been in the works?"

"Not just space travel." Something flickered in Gar's gaze, and though Clark studied him diligently, he couldn't read the emotion. "Space outposts. Labs established on other planets, to encourage aliens to visit us, so we can learn their anatomy, culture, technology. Imagine- humans learning the ways of the Martians, the Tamaraneans, the Almeracians. Think of how us humans could evolve with that amount of knowledge readily available to us."

"You think forming a lab facility on another planet is possible?" Clark asked, eyebrows raised. He'd heard nothing about such a development previously, even with his various contacts in the expanded Justice League and the government. He couldn't but worry at the potential ramifications of Dayton Industries' plans.

"It's not a question of possibility, Mr. Kent, but a question of schedule." Gar serenely poured himself a cup of tea.

Clark exchanged surprised glances with Jimmy. "When will the off-planet lab facility be completed, then?"

Gar waved a hand dismissively. "Completion could take years, but we begin construction in a few months. We haven't set the exact date yet, but rest assured we'll be announcing it soon."

"And what's your motivation for going into space?" Clark quizzed him. "What was the impetus?"

Again, a new expression flitted across Gar's features, but this time, Clark was able to catch it: deep-rooted, boundless grief.


	4. Chapter 4

Like any other major city, Los Angeles never truly slept. Sure, a number of tourist families retired for the night, but a whole other crowd emerged after dark. Bar-hoppers looking for a good time, club kids searching for their rush, and drug dealers out to push their wares.

While the Hollywood Walk of Fame wasn't exactly empty at night, it was significantly less mobbed than it was during the day. Good enough for Gar, at least, to feel comfortable to be out walking around without any kind of disguise. Still, erring on the side of caution, he kept a pair of sunglasses hooked onto his shirt just in case a situation arose.

Every inch of his body ached with weariness. A dull throbbing at the back of his head signalled to his brain his desperation for sleep. Beside general stiffness, his joints were developing a sharp sting that flared throughout his limbs every so often, indicating his energy was beginning to dwindle down to nothing more than fumes.

But Gar couldn't rest. Not just yet.

His heart was heavy as he approached the familiar star, the one that bore his mother's name. The last time he had been to the Walk of Fame was when he was eight years old, when Rita's star debuted. In celebration, Rita and Steve had taken him to see it. Gar still had the pictures of himself standing with parents at the star, as proud of it as if it were dedicated to him himself.

Admittedly, that memory was fake, a product of this new reality he'd created. But it was still nice to remember Rita and Steve happy together, happy with him, rather than Rita discouraged by her abnormalities and Steve broken with grief by her death.

Earlier in day he'd spoken at the final memorial for Rita. Tomorrow, there would be no direction to move but forward, and Gar was terrified.

How could everything have wound up so wrong, after all he did to ensure the happiness of the people he loved? How was it that his life was still so screwed up?

Reaching his destination, Gar knelt to lay the bouquet of long-stemmed roses beneath the engraved tile.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. And he was. When he made the choice to rewrite history, to remove himself from ever being a hero, he'd asked for a similar change for the Doom Patrol. That they should never have their accidents that granted them their unique abilities.

In hindsight, Gar knew he should have been more careful for what he wished. Instead of having normal lives, Cliff, Larry, and the Chief were simply dead. Now, Rita was dead, too. And Vic still was part robot. But at least Vic seemed like his familiar self, not the being more interested in machines than mankind that he had been before Gar made his wish.

There could be no reneging on his deal. Not at this point. Gar would simply have to learn to move on and learn to live with his choices.

* * *

With the drug house in shambles and the blaring sirens rapidly nearing, Nightwing, AKA Dick Grayson, decided it was time to make his exit. The few dealers who still held to consciousness cursed and raged at him as he made his flying leap out the window. Once in the shadows, several rooftops away, he observed with satisfaction as the thugs were carted out of the house in cuffs. Taking down the dealers in Bludhaven had failed, as had cutting off the supply lines, so Dick had eventually resorted to destroying the main source in the city. But there was a second supply in Los Angeles, and Dick knew his job wouldn't be completed until the secondary source was eliminated as well.

Satisfied that he had completed his mission to the fullest, Dick decided it wouldn't hurt to conduct a sweep of the city to make his presence in Los Angeles known, to assert he wasn't just limited to Bludhaven.

Not long into his patrol, Dick was passing over an alley close to the Hollywood Walk of Fame when he heard the sounds of a struggle below. The situation didn't take long to assess- attempted mugging, three on one, but impressively, the one appeared to be holding his own quite well.

Wasting no time, Dick hurtled himself into the fray, but he found his presence to not be particularly necessary. The intended victim fought swiftly and effectively, using a blending of boxing techniques along with several martial arts styles. A prickle of disquiet ran through Dick as he caught the other's movements from the corner of his eye- a characteristic of his motions was oddly familiar in manner he couldn't quite place.

When the muggers fled in surrender, obviously realized they were outclassed by two more talented fighters, Dick was determined to lay down a few pieces of investigative groundwork.

"You did a good job standing your ground," he commented neutrally, turning to the person he'd aided.

"Thank you," the individual responded. He wasn't even out of breath.

Curiosity piqued, Dick examined the would-be mugging victim. He was young, still a teenager, maybe seventeen at most. He had a wiry build, but with with apparent lean muscles. To be able to fight with the talent he did, he had training and was athletically inclined. This kid was the pretty boy kind of handsome: fair complexion, golden hair, and bright blue eyes. His movements and posture gave credence to an understated but evident sense of self-confidence. The clothes he wore were casual- black button-down with a pair of khakis, but raised in wealth as he had been, Dick could recognize designer goods when he saw them.

"Kind of late for a kid your age to be out," he observed. This one didn't look like a typical drug user- the rolled up sleeves of his button-down revealed no track marks, his pupils didn't seem dilated, and it doubtful that someone who was craving could have fought with the grace and finesse as he had.

For a moment, the kid only eyed him with vague amusement, as if thinking of his own private joke. Strangely, he appeared completely unrattled by the events.

"I just wanted to take in some of the sights," the kid replied smoothly. "Just to see how different things were after dark."

Again, his words and mannerisms nagged at the back of Dick's mind. The kid's tone was conversational, as though they knew each other, were familiar with each.

"As I'm sure you've realized, the city isn't exactly the safest at night," Dick informed him, his sense of responsibility rising above his odd unsettlement. "I'll walk with you until you can get a cab-"

"Such a gentlemen," the kid said, a friendly jibe in his tone. Again, he talked like they knew each other.

"Do you have a place to go?" Dick persisted.

"A penthouse suite at the Los Angeles Plaza Hotel," the kid informed him, boredom obvious in his tone.

So the kid came from money. Then what was he doing out here if he wasn't buying drugs?

They proceeded out of the alley toward the more central area. As they passed by a darkened storefront, Dick glimpsed his reflection in the glass. For a split second, he could have sworn that the kid beside was now green, from his skin to his hair, along with wearing a red and black jumpsuit, a typical outfit for the superhero crowd. But when Dick whirled to glance at the kid, he was just as normal as he'd always been, and he meet Dick's gaze readily, with a smile that betrayed a strange hint of sadness.

Again disturbed, Dick tried to reach into the recesses of his brain to place this kid, even match him to a masked hero or villain whose identity he didn't know, but none of them fit.

Once he saw the kid safely to a cab, Dick absconded to a high rooftop and placed a call to Barbara.

She answered with a groan. "Dick, I know you're partying it up in the land of the sea and sun, but it's past three in the morning over in the East."

"And to think I considered you a nocturnal animal," Dick joked.

He could picture her rolling her eyes as her voice crackled over the communicator. "I'll do anything you want me to if you promise not to make any more awful jokes."

"I'm going to give you a location, and I need you to pull up the security footage from all surrounding cameras and send it to me. I also need you to place the individuals and include any relevant information on them." While Dick knew he may be overreacting, he also he knew he wouldn't be satisfied until he found out who the blonde kid had been and what he was doing.

"That's all you need?" Barbara teased him. "You're getting lazy. Is the West Coast lifestyle affecting you?"

"Just for that, I'm not going to bring you any souvenirs," Dick shot back.

"No tacky Tinseltown trinkets? Whatever shall I do?" Barbara replied, feigning dismay. "No worries. I'll have the info sent to you by the time you get back to your apartment."

Once back at the Wayne Enterprises executive apartment, Dick grabbed his laptop and reviewed the data Barbara sent to him. The muggers were standard low-life thugs with typical rapsheets. The kid, however, surprised him. Apparently, he was Gar Logan, son of Steve Dayton, the fifth richest person in the world, and Rita Farr, a renowned actress who'd been killed during the Apokolips invasion last week.

So, the son of a famous actress was in Los Angeles. He was probably attending her memorials and revisiting her old haunts.

Perhaps the reason Dick thought Gar was familiar was because he encountered at him as a few different galas and recognized him from there? But no, if Gar had left that much of an impression, Dick would have been able to place him immediately. Besides, that wouldn't explain why Gar seemed to know Dick.

Puzzling over the issue, Dick replayed the security footage, starting from the beginning of the attempted mugging. He watched as Gar launched himself into a fight, and suddenly, the nagging sense of familiarity became clear.

Gar fought like Dick did. Their styles weren't identical, and though immensely talented, Gar's skills were not quite on the same level as Dick's. But there were distinctive, unmistakable similarities in their movements, as if Dick himself had trained Gar to fight.


	5. Chapter 5

The flashing red and blue lights of the police cars flared in the fading evening sun as Weather Wizard and Captain Cold were escorted away in handcuffs.

"Thanks for the assist," Barry Allen, AKA the Flash, said to Victor Stone, clapping him on the shoulder.

Vic, or Cyborg, the most recent recruit to the Justice League, shrugged modestly. "It's no problem. And I don't mind helping out." His robotic eye flickered briefly as he reviewed data on his internal computer. "Actually, that park took a fair amount of damage. It wouldn't hurt for us to clear away the worst of the rubble until first responders can take care of it. Weather Wizard's tornado uprooted a few streetlights. There might be loose power lines."

"A hero's work is never done," Barry remarked as he turned to the direction of the park. Vic fired up his jet pack, and Barry booked it back to the center of the park, where the altercation had began.

Arriving at his destination, Barry stopped and glanced around. He blinked, then whirled, surveying the area from every direction.

There was no damage to the park, none whatsoever, not that Barry could see. Everything was as serene and picture perfect as if they'd never fought the criminals here. But that couldn't be right- he'd seen streetlights knocked over, benches crushed, trees crashed to the ground.

While waiting for Vic to land, Barry scouted about the park at super speed.

Nothing. No sign that the fight had ever occurred.

"This is impossible." Barry shook his head, flummoxed, as Vic dropped to the ground beside him.

"No damage from an aerial perspective, either." Extending a hand, Vic scanned the area for any abnormalities. A shrug of his shoulders at the conclusion indicated to Barry that he found nothing.

"But we saw a fair portion of the park be destroyed," Barry stated, struggling to rationalize the disconnect between their experiences and the results standing evident before them.

"And I have the recording of the park being ruined during the fight as it happened," Vic added.

"We need to report to the League about this discrepancy right away." Barry sighed. "Twenty bucks says this is a rift in the time-space continuum."

Vic grinned. "My money is on magic messing around with reality." He signaled the Watchtower. "Two to beam up."

* * *

As if the the automatic and inexplicable reset of the Central City park wasn't sufficiently strange, physics apparently decided to phone in sick the next day, and Vic got to be a firsthand witness. A reverse maelstrom developed in the the Nile River, just outside of Wadi Halfa in Sudan. Scientists across the globe were mystified by the stationary twenty-foot fountain surging out of the surface of the river, and STAR Labs requested Vic use his boom technology to visit the area and collect measurements. Vic readily agreed: if some sort natural disaster was looming on the Nile, the surrounding coastal cities would need to be evacuated by the League.

Luckily for the residents, bizarre as it was, the reverse-maelstrom did not appear to be a threat. Its location near the center of the river remained constant, never fluctuating or changing direction. An area of the water simply now shot of the river and spiralled toward the sky, as though gravity became bored and decided to change directions.

Even as the STAR scientists confirmed the reverse maelstrom was not a threat to the well-being of the coastal cities, Vic couldn't ignore a lurking sense of dread. For a reason he couldn't quite put to words, thoughts of the situation continually hounded him, as though there was an obvious realization to be found to which he remained oblivious.

Exiting the conference room where he gave his report, Vic started back to his personal quarters at the lab, which he used to calibrate his systems. His thoughts regarding the maelstrom dominated his mind to the point that he collided with another person when he rounded the corner, knocking them down to the floor.

"Sorry about that," Vic said instantly, extending a hand to pull the other person up. It was a kid; Vic's internal system instantly identified him as Gar Logan, sixteen-year-old son of industrial mogul Steve Dayton and Rita Farr, a famous actress who was killed in the Metropolis invasion six weeks ago.

For a moment after Vic restored Logan upright, the younger teen gazed at him, blue eyes enormous in his smooth face. Immediately, Vic's heart sunk- he was a walking, talking computer with a few human features. Of course the kid was going to stare.

But after that pause, Logan seemed to focus, and offered him a smile that Vic found well-suited to his pleasant features. "It's fine," he replied, brushing a strand of sleek golden hair back from his forehead. "I should learn to be more careful where I'm walking, especially around here. I don't want to plow into any unsuspecting scientist and accidentally destroy their lives' work, or something like that." He proffered a hand. "Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I'm Gar Logan."

Vic accepted the hand, appreciative of Logan's tactful handling of the situation. "I'm Vic Stone. Or Cyborg, when I'm with the Justice League."

For a brief moment, sadness gleamed in Logan's blue eyes, and there was an odd note in his voice when he spoke. "The Justice League, huh? Are you here on official League business?"

"Just making some reports to STAR about the situation with the Nile," Vic returned noncommittally. "What about you?"

"A meeting for the Dayton Labs space outpost program," Logan's voice was now casual, a bit too much deliberately so. "Thanks to the advancements STAR provided us with, we're going to be able to proceed sooner than planned- we should be able to have the launch in another three weeks. I'll be going with the first crew to ensure the construction stays on course."

"Space, huh?" Vic said lightly. "What's so bad about earth that you have to hop on a rocket ship to get away from it?" He glanced at Logan and was taken aback to find utter devastation overtaking the younger teen's features. "Damn, I didn't mean-"

"It's all right," Logan replied with a tight smile. "It's just been a . . . difficult time for the past couple of months."

"I'm sorry," Vic offered helplessly.

Logan shook his head. "Not your fault." He exhaled deeply. "I don't mean to be abrupt, but I have to speak with a few more department representatives before I'm finished here. It was a pleasure meeting you, Victor, but now I really must go." He nodded at Vic and then took off in the opposite direction.

"Yeah- see you," Vic called after him. He sighed, watching Logan stride away. "Good one, Stone," he muttered to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

The poison from the serpent's bite was seeping through her veins, taking its effect. Courtney was aware that she was growing weaker with each passing second, and very likely, dying. But no way in hell was she going out without a fight.

Summoning all her strength of will, she aimed her staff and sent a blast of energy toward the giant serpent, attacking it with all the power she could manage for as long as she could hold. Her body trembled violently as she struggled to remain upright, but the sole point of her attention was on channeling her every inch of will, every drop of strength, every iota of courage into her weapon.

The world around her seemed at once too fast and too slow, and Courtney could feel her pulse pounding, her heartbeats as loud as gunshots. Throat parched, limbs aching, and vision blurring, she was not aware of anything around her beyond her target. She could see the colossal serpent writhing as the staff's energy swirled around it; in her state, however, she couldn't determine if its movements were growing weaker or not.

But what Courtney knew for certain was that she would not yield. She would not give up. Too much was riding on her victory: the safety of the civilians she was trying to protect, the well-being of the other heroes she fought with, the legacy she trying to uphold.

She couldn't die. She had to stay alive. Stay alive and fight.

Gritting her teeth, Courtney kept her staff steady as its output increased, energy flooding out in torrents of pure concussion. Her knees bent and her shoulders jerked; if the poison didn't knock her to the ground, the amount of force she was channeling would do the job on its own it short order.

Finally, just as Courtney's will was fast fading, there was a loud, terrible shriek, and the serpent burst into pieces, splattering viscous liquid and gory chunks through the air.

Weak with relief, Courtney collapsed onto the street, her head swimming. For a time, she lay there, exhausted, certain that death would overtake her at any moment, but the yell of a familiar voice grounded her back into cognizance.

"Stargirl? You all right, darlin'?"

Opening her eyes and lifting her head, Courtney saw Vigilante running toward her. It was then she realized that she could no longer feel the serpent's poison. Cautiously, she rose, testing her balance, cataloguing her injuries. She held up her arm, examining it for the puncture wound, but was unable to find anything of the sort. Other than some scrapes, aches, and overall tiredness, she didn't seem to have any other maladies. Definitely not the sensation of impending death that had enveloped her only a few minutes ago.

"I'm fine," she said in amazement. Vigilante reached her, and she stared at him, bewildered. "I'm perfectly fine."

"Thought I saw you get bit by that critter?" He inquired, frowning behind his bandana.

"I did," Courtney told him in disbelief. "But somehow . . . I'm fine now."

Vigilante jerked his thumb back in the direction of the emergency vehicles. "There are ambulances over yonder. C'mon, let's get you checked out. What was that thing, anyhow?"

"The Colchian dragon," Courtney said as Vigilante helped her along. "A creature from Greek mythology."

"One of Wonder Woman's whatsits, then." Vigilante nodded, like he'd suspected all along.

"Yeah." Courtney furrowed her brow quizzically. "But the serpent is supposed to stay in Colchis to guard the golden fleece. I wonder why it would leave?"

"Tell you what, Stargirl." Vigilante helped her sit on the curb as paramedics rushed over to her. "I heard from Black Canary, who heard from Green Lantern. He and Bats and Supes and the rest think that it's some sort of magic that's caused all kinds of strange things to start happenin'."

"Must be some kind of powerful magic, to cause all this disaster at once," Courtney remarked, lifting her arm so one of the paramedics could take her pulse.

* * *

The sensation washed over Kyle Raynar in an instant, wiping away any weariness or aches plaguing him, replacing them with a natural buoyancy. The sudden shift in his mood startled Kyle, and he paused with his paintbrush halted just in front of the canvas, droplets of paint dripping onto the apartment floor. Had there been any previous chance of regaining the rent deposit, Kyle would have been upset, but for now, he concentrated on the unexpected onslaught of emotion. **  
**

Any weight on his shoulders was lifted, and now he suddenly felt refreshed and excited, with new strength and resolve. A slight giddiness accompanied all of these other emotions, and this addition brought Kyle to recognize the whole of the reaction: the feeling of a new love.

"The hell is this?!" Guy Gardner demanded, sitting upright from where he'd been lounging on Kyle's couch. No doubt as another Green Lantern, he'd also been affected.

"The emotional spectrum," Kyle stated, setting aside his paintbrush and palette. Due to their energy rings, they were closely attuned to the power balance of the various Lantern Corps, and could sense any major changes.

"The Star Sapphires," Guy growled. "They've just become a lot more powerful."

"For a while, they were losing power after the Predator entity disappeared and they no longer had a primary source of energy. But once Queen Aga'po sacrificed herself, they restored their Corps," Kyle mused. "Something else must have just happened to give them more influence. I wonder what this means for us?"

Guy retrieved his ring from the power battery where it was charging. "Nothing good. I can tell you that right now."

* * *

All news stations were breaking with the same story: STAR Labs had established the first interplanetary base, but there was one casualty. Gar Logan, heir to Dayton Industries, was lost during the mission and now missing and presumed dead. **  
**

The door to his personal Watchtower laboratory slid open, and Bruce turned away from the monitors, an eyebrow raised. Most of the other founding members of the League were away on missions, and the majority of the remaining members would be reluctant to intrude upon the Batman's privacy.

"Zatanna. Dr. Fate," he greeted his two visitors.

"We need to speak with you," Zatanna said firmly.

"Can it wait?" Batman asked impatiently. "I've yet to determine what Logan's death means for the League. We were considering establishing an interplanetary outpost alongside STAR Labs, and now it's become a rather precarious position."

"Our concern is in conjunction to that event, as well as others," Doctor Fate informed him.

Intrigued, Batman turned away from the screens to give them his full attention. "I'm listening."

"Approximately seventy-three days ago, I was inside Shadowcrest, preparing ingredients for my spells," Zatanna began.

"Gotham Shadowcrest, or the Shadowcrest within another dimension?" Batman interrupted.

"Gotham Shadowcrest," Zatanna answered. "As I was working, I sensed an enormous release of chaos magic. More than enough for someone to alter our world in small ways that are initially unnoticeable. I retrieved a talisman that I store in the Shadowcrest in another dimension— I keep it there so its properties avoid being affected by magical alterations, but it's still able to detect such alterations that occur here in our primary world."

"And it did," Batman presumed.

Zatanna nodded in confirmation.

"We believe that the fracturing of the spell is the reason for the various strange happenings around the world," Doctor Fate contributed. "Zatanna and I have both become aware that some of our mystical artifacts now behave oddly. Flash and Cyborg reported a reversal in Central City's time-space sequence several weeks ago. And then there's the Nile vortex. For whatever reason, the enchantment is crumbling, and in the process, wreaking havoc with the laws of magic, time, nature, and physics."

"Any idea of the specific purpose of the spell, or who cast it?" Batman queried.

"To change the history of the earth without being immediately discovered and with such a vast amount of chaos magic, the individual must be a powerful sorcerer accustomed to the dark arts," Doctor Fate answered. "But after investigating those who would usually be involved in these incidents, I've not been able to determine the source."

"I've already eliminated Circe," Zatanna volunteered. "But without knowing the reason itself for the spell, I barely know where to begin the search. For that matter, I'm not even certain what aspects of history were changed. I've cast a net, but so far, I haven't made very much progress."

"Oh, don't worry." Batman started for the door. "I have my own methods."


End file.
